


Frank Castle- Feel

by Skellyagogo



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Porn, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Female reader insert, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Smut, frank castle smut, punisher smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:29:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22582555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skellyagogo/pseuds/Skellyagogo
Summary: A night out on the town, but a blast from the past needs some help.  Tension and an ache, a shower gives way to how he really feels.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	Frank Castle- Feel

  


*********************************************

The club was hopping, sweaty bodies on the dance floor, booze flowing like a river well past the flood stage. Blowing off steam after a shitty week, it was Nat’s idea to head out with Clint in tow. Some seedy dark club you had to know someone who knew someone to get in with a password that changed every day. The kind of place frequented by people with our backgrounds, assassins and ‘ghosts’ that didn’t exist on paper. Sometimes hanging out in those mainstream places with Stark and the others only made us further realize how different we really were from them. 

“Forget the others,” Nat said smirking tossing back another shot of some vodka I’d only ever seen in Russia. “They don’t know how to have a good time.”

We were going to drink until we forgot, drink until the world stopped and stood still. I was already six shots in, feeling fantastic dancing in my chair watching the people on the level below. Tempted to head out on the dance floor and let loose. I stood up and was leaving our table on the second floor of the club when my phone rang, seeing who it was put a smile on my face.

“Semper Fi, it’s been a while.” I could hear the echo of the club’s music through my phone, some older Tech N9ne of all things. My eyes scanning the club knowing he was watching me mouthing the words to the song, 'That Box’ that blared through the speaker system.

“Looking good Princess, but does Freddy Krueger know you borrowed his sweater?” His gruff voice answered with a hint of charm he rarely showed anyone. The slight laugh that followed was deep and husky meant only for me.

I could hear the sounds of a cash register on his end, my head snapped toward the main bar. Leaning my hip against the balcony railing I caught a glimpse of him before he fully turned my way flashing a grin, his eyes lit up. Dark brown hair slicked back in his favorite style, a heavy black jacket fit snug in his shoulders. Guess Frank just couldn’t stop working out, he looked a little bigger than the last time our paths had crossed.

“Shame you lost the beard, it was working for you.” Internally I was pouting, not that I’d ever show it on the outside. He was the kind of guy that looked rugged either way, but that beard did something. “What brings you to this neck of the woods?” There wasn’t any hiding the buzzed smirk as it slid across my face.

“People kept mistaking me for a hipster… I hate hipsters. Maybe… I just wanted to see you.” He raised an eye looking a little cocky, but we both knew he only called for one of two things.

“Mhm,” I mused into the phone arching an eye right back at him pursing my lips. He wasn’t one to deviate from his usual routine so him being here in the open meant something. “Tick tock Semper Fi or I’m sitting back down and getting drunk.”

“Fine! I need an assist and I don’t trust anyone else but you.” Frank rolled his eyes shaking his head. Seeing me grinning knowing I had him. The rest of the world seemed to think he was hard to read, a loose cannon, unpredictable, but that was the furthest thing from the truth for me.

“Was that so hard?” I snickered into the phone biting my bottom lip.

“Yes and now that’s not the only thing either. Stop looking at me like that Princess or you’ll regret it.” The smug grin curled up on the edges of his parted lips, his tongue swept over his bottom lip. For a predatory vigilante, he looked damned fine.

“Promises, promises, meet you at your place in twenty.” I winked down at him watching as he blended in and disappeared in the crowd. Turning around towards Nat and Clint who shared the same curious look. “Sorry guys, I uh… a friend is going through something and I gotta go.” I pushed my way through the crowd and out the door before they could answer.

***********

Adrenaline running high still as we stumbled threw the door of his hideout, some warehouse near the docks. It wasn’t much, but it suited his needs. Multiple exits, an open area to see the whole place at once, even the bathroom walls were down, the grungy glass door of the shower left nothing to the imagination. The only spot in the whole place that had a damned door was the toilet. I suppose I couldn’t fault him there. He had cameras everywhere, watching in case someone was trying to get the drop on him. It was dingy and dark, smelled of sweat, alcohol, and gun powder.

Bruised and battered, I had a stab wound in my side, nothing major was hit that I could tell. I’d need a few stitches maybe, Frank, on the other hand, looked like he’d gone a few rounds with Connor MacGregor. Even though he’d worn his signature vest, it didn’t do much when they hit you where there wasn’t any protection. The fight was grueling and he most certainly wouldn’t have made it out of there without me, not that he’d ever admitted it. Crawled out of there yeah, but with me there at least he walked out… this time.

He had a black eye that was puffing up something fierce, the coloring of the bruise a sign he might even have a broken eye socket. A split lip and a broken nose, blood-splattered and dried over his face, neck, and chest, most of it wasn’t even his. There was a graze on his bicep from a gunshot, but I wouldn’t know the full extent until he took off his gear. I wasn’t sure how I was going to explain my own bruises when I got back to the Compound. The usual lie was a hardcore training session.

He was limping when he thought I wasn’t looking, always trying to keep up that tough-guy swagger of his. I slumped down on his grungy couch trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it all as I pulled off my hooded facemask and a bulletproof vest. No one could ever know that on rare occasions, I aided the Punisher. The World, governing agencies, hell even my team wouldn’t understand. I had a duty as an Avenger, an image to uphold and maintain, but I also had a duty and loyalty to Frank.

“What’s so funny?” He grunted as he fell onto the couch next to me, pulling off his vest tossing it aside. Frank let out a deep sigh, trying to catch his breath as he leaned resting his head on the back of the couch.

“It’s funny wearing this mask,” I laughed staring at the black facemask. It had the outline of a skull in white on the face that matched the one on Frank’s vest. The only thing visible when I wore it was my eyes, but even then I blacked out half of my face in paint. He turned his head to look at me and held back a laugh.

“You look ridiculous, you know that right? Like a fucking raccoon.” He was half-way through a smile before he grunted in pain at the large cut in his lip that started bleeding again.

“Thanks, like you look any better jackass. I need your medkit to stitch up a gash.” His brows furrowed, eyes glancing down following my hands as I lifted up my shirt. Blood was still oozing out of the wound. It didn’t look too bad, but come morning it’d hurt like hell. I couldn’t really pass that off as a training mishap, not a four-inch gash on my lower ab near my hip.

“Damn it Y/n!” Frank jumped off the couch rushing towards his medical supplies grabbing a box. His boots stomping harshly on cement ground on the way back, slamming a metal dining chair next to the couch and sat down in it pulling a saline solution out of the box. “Why the fuck didn’t you say something sooner?”

“It’s nothing, it didn’t hit anything major,” I grumbled, but he was ushering me to lay down on the couch. When I tried fighting him insisting I could do it myself, he only glared pushing his index finger roughly on my sternum shoving me down.

Frank worked in silence cleaning the gash with the saline solution and then again with alcohol. There wasn’t anything aggressive or irate at the way he worked, he was gentle and methodical despite the angry look on his face. He was laser-focused making sure the wound was clean, aimed a flashlight around it checking for anything he might have missed or a change in color. He never took this amount of care over himself. With himself, it was angry quick and haphazard stitches, and copious amounts of booze to numb his pain. I witnessed pure concern in his eyes when I hissed at the sting of the needle as it pierced my skin.

“Shit, sorry, should have warned you.” His eyes wouldn’t meet mine but the way he swallowed, gulping down that annoyance at himself said enough.

“S'alright. Been a while since I’ve been stitched up the old fashioned way.” I gave him a soft smile not expecting him to finally look at me, but he did. It was a curious look, his mouth partially open ready to retort, but he settled on a side smirk.

I couldn’t help but study his hands as he worked. They were large, and calloused, too many years of hard work and fighting had taken their toll. A couple of his knuckles were covered in dried blood, smashed and swollen. Frank was just as good with his fists as he was with a gun. I could see bruises on his hands from the fistfight, the pinkie on his right hand wouldn’t bend properly with the rest of his fingers. It was clearly broken, but there he sat stitching up the gash on me instead of taking care of himself.

“I could have done this myself. No need to be all protective Frank.” His eyes darted towards mine and lingered. He didn’t speak only shook his head with a faint smile attempting to covering the wound in gauze. I pushed his hands away. “Not yet, I need a shower. I feel super gross right now. Besides your turn.” I sat up with a muffled wince, with the adrenaline wearing off maybe it was a little worse than I thought.

“I’m fine, go jump in the shower Y/n.” I maneuvered my legs between him, resting my hands on his thighs and stared up into his face. Too close for him to look away or attempt to lie. The unrestrained lowering of his shoulders as he relaxed in my closeness.

“Frank.” Just one word, one simple word.

It wasn’t spoken in anger or disgust, it wasn’t said argumentative, but velvety and delicate. Those deep dark eyes of his flipping between my own. The sound of a deep inhale of breath and the long sigh he let out, it was something he thought of as vulnerable. To let his guard down and others seeing him hurt and in pain. He sat upright in the chair reaching behind him pulling off his shirt tossing it aside.

The gasp was louder than I would have wanted. I ignored the movement of his eyes following my head tilting, examining his chest and arms. Bulky and muscular, he was something to admire naked. My hand of its own accord reached out barely touching his skin. His toned figure covered in bruises both old and new, dozens of new scars littered his once perfectly smooth skin. They were jagged little markers on the road map of his life. Too many stories and most of them better left unspoken.

He studied me as I worked on him the same way I’d done. To most, his face would have seemed nothing more than stone, a hardened stoic appearance, but they’d be wrong. Even without looking up I knew the little ticks he was showing, the ones I memorized after our first bout of vigilantism. The way he blinked, the way his lashes fluttered in that movement was different, it was slower, softer. The muscles in his jaw that were usually clenched and flexing in rage were relaxed.

Even the way he breathed, the rise and fall of his chest and shoulders were loose and at ease. When he was deep in thought thinking God only knows what, his eyes glazed over faintly and his ears would twitch. He could be looking straight at me, but it felt like he was searching inside me. The arch of his top lip reminded me of an upside-down bow, oddly perfect curves to them. You had to be sitting close, really close to him to notice the subtlety of the smile. Even with his mouth closed, lips pursed in his usual defiant 'I’ll kick your ass’ pose, I knew the tiny hint of a smile curling at the very edges of his lips. It was so minuscule you’d miss it if you weren’t looking directly at him at the time he was doing it.

There was no flinch or wince or hiss when the alcohol touched coldly against his cuts and abrasions. The only tell he’d allowed his body to show and betray him was when it tensed as I slid into his lap to getting a better angle to stitch the spot on his arm opened by a gunshot. It was deeper than he’d admit, some ointment and gauze would have suited him just fine, but I stitched it closed anyway. His gaze followed me as I stood up when finished only to straddle his thighs forcing his legs closed. The slow tilt of his head to the side, the squinting of his eyes unsure of what my intentions were.

“Head straight,” gently holding his face in my palms turning him to face me. My own eyes scrunched examining, fingers delicately touching the side of his nose. “It’s broken.”

“Nothing new Princess.” The corners of his eyes crinkled in a contented gaze. It didn’t bother him any, surely he’d trot in front of the mirror when I was in the shower and fix it himself. Manly bravado and all, that was his style.

“Frank,” again with the same tender tone he hated to admit he adored.

He closed his eyes not wanting to associate my face with his pain as I braced my thumbs on either side of his nose. A familiar pressure, the warm hold of his hands on my hips. His fingertips dug into my jeans searching for their comfort zone, the same one he’d come to miss more than he wanted to be known. The sickly crunching noise that filled the quiet room made my stomach flip. His grip tightened, his chest heaving rapidly filling with a growling rumble. I hated hurting him like that, even if it was to fix him.

Those gorgeous eyes of his darting around behind his closed lids, he was used to pain but it didn’t mean he had to like it. Gingerly leaning forward, a gentle bump of my forehead to his doing my best to avoid his nose. His hands let go of their hold, arms slithering around my lower back dragging me closer, pressing my chest to his. His hot breath fanning my neck. Leaning my head to the side, licking my lips debating whether or not to take it a step further or let him heal. He didn’t even give me a chance to finish my thought before his chin lifted pressing his lips to mine.

His hands wrenched my shirt off, hands roaming, wet sloppy kisses trailing down my neck and over my chest. There was never anything soft or slow about Frank, everything was blunt and to the point. The need was evident, and intense with how roughly his hand was pressed against my back keeping me close to him. Hips rubbing against each other, heated friction in a clothed grind. He didn’t stop until his arm rubbed up on my gash making me recoil at the throbbing ache.

He rested his head on my chest, breathing heavily, slowly shaking his head. He never understood to attraction, the pull, but deep down he was grateful for it. Too much shit had been taken from him and his life destroyed in his rampage of revenge, but somewhere in all of that, he found me. He knew he was too far gone for a chance at a normal life again so he took what he could even if it was just an occasional release of lustful needs. Frank wasn’t sure he was ready to let himself feel again.

I kissed the top of his head and slid off his lap grabbing the med supplies from the couch. He stayed put in the chair, not speaking, only brooding in silence. I knew he was watching my every move as I put the supplies away, tossing the bloodied bits in the trash. There was a heaviness in the air, a constant tension between us. Even after spending a night together rolling around in bed fucking away the frustrations, bodies finally dropping on the bed in exhaustion. Too tired to speak, bodies unable to move, every last breath fucked right out of each other, that tension was still there.

I let my fingers trail over his shoulders as I walked passed him on my way to the shower. Things were never simple between us, nothing ever black and white. Perpetually in some muddy grey area caught between good and evil, right and wrong, together and not. He didn’t want to drag me down with his troubles and I refused to let him get nabbed and pulled in by SHIELD, but neither of us could deny help when they other was in trouble.

A few times he came out of nowhere saving my ass when a fight had turned sideways and no longer in my favor. I did my best to covertly keep him off SHIELD’s database creating a virus that wiped out all sightings of him over social media and the likes. Someday I’d get caught and I knew I’d have a price to pay, but I did it to keep him safe.

The water was steamy and hot, flowing over my body like a waterfall. Soapy hair and closed eyes, I leaned forward against the wall letting the scorching blades of water assault the sore muscles on my back. Fighting beside Frank was more guerilla-style than the Avengers, a lot of hand-to-hand combat. It was rough and tumble, more having to rely on instinct than Stark’s tech. I could hear him fumbling loudly in the bathroom behind me, most likely looking in the mirror at my handy work on his nose.

In the blink of an eye, he was behind me soaking up all that glorious hot water, I groaned in protest to the sudden chill. He only chuckled and clicked his tongue chiding the way I nudged my thigh into him trying to get him to move. I opened my eyes and stared at the tile floor seeing the splashes of blood mix with the water, the trails of pink and red-hued water flowing toward the drain. The smell of his soap as he lathered himself up filling my nose. Soft grunts echoing out when he ran over a heavily bruised area with his soapy hands.

The same hands that had beaten down a hoard of men earlier in the night were crawling around my hips pulling me back under the spray of the water. Rinsing out the soap in my hair and combing his fingers through it untangling the mess it’d become under the mask. His hands roamed free over each and every curve from behind. One hand firmly poised on a breast, massaging achingly gentle for him. The other hardened hand slipping between my legs running over my mound. Teasing wasn’t a normal thing for him. Our trists were straight to the point, rough and intense, primal and needy, but here he was teasing slowly. I could feel his smile as he nipped and sucked leaving kisses on my shoulder and up my neck.

“Why you gotta do this to me, Princess?” The gruff low laugh heavy in my ear. 

“Make me want something I shouldn’t have.” Hard and ready for some fun he rubbed himself between my legs.

His fingers sliding inside pumping in and out, a low growl emanating from him feeling a slickness that had nothing to do with soap or water. Two fingers became three, moving agonizingly slow. Scissoring and curling inside me, he was working every last nerve ending I had setting them all on fire. He had me in a moaning mess crying out his name and slumping my body against his, my arms reaching behind holding on around his neck for support.

Deep throaty laughter muffled in the crook of my neck, his tongue licking a spot just in the center and attacked. A hard nip, the pinch of his teeth as he sucked knowing he’d leave a mark. He’d never, not once in our history ever placed a mark like that. A hickey in plain sight, like it was some sort of claiming, marking his territory. Frank reached behind him turning off the water.

“Bed, now,” he growled nudging me out of the shower.

“I’m soaking wet,” I tried to protest only to be met with hands on my shoulders spinning me around facing him.

The predatory smile turning up the edges of his mouth, his chest heaving deeply, eyes squinting relaying a need. That grin was nothing if not a turn on. His hands cupping my ass lifting me up tucking my legs around his waist. That damned tongue sweeping over my chest and up my neck claiming my mouth. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I gave him control. Stomping with wet feet in massive strides, devouring my lips, tongue so far in my mouth in dominance.

He dropped me on the bed grinning. I turned on my stomach ass up in the air hearing him groan happily. I peeked over my shoulder flashing a wink in time to see him thrust in harshly. Balls deep filling me to the brim, I dropped my head into the sheets moaning. My fists balled up in the blanket crying out his name. For the longest time, all he did was pound me into the mattress. A few hard slaps on my ass, deep grunts rumbling in his chest.

“Uh … fuck… Frank,” tears prickling my eyes, my cries muffled lost in the sheets.

Once, twice, three orgasms rode rough and gone. My whole body quivering but he wasn’t done. He was hungry, starving, and he wasn’t about to let his meal go just yet. He let go of his grip on my hips, pulling my arms behind me. Folding them behind my back keeping them in place with one hand. Growling letting out a primal groan picking up his pace. Railing into me over and over, I could hear the smug smile in the way he exhaled his breath.

“Who’s making you feel this good Princess?” The question grunted through clenched teeth.

“You.” Breathless and gasping for air, but enjoying every second.

He was deep in, stretching me to the limit, but he loved it. The feel of me tightening around him. The moaning cries that left my lips. The slick wet mess leaking between my legs knowing he did it, he was the cause me coming undone beneath him. The writhing mess I’d become, putty in his hands begging for more. His free hand snaking under me pulling me up leaning me against his chest. He let my arms go, I reached behind grabbing ahold of his ass making him groan.

He held me up tight against him, thrusting wildly. A hand dipped downward rubbing against my clit, the other in light squeeze around my neck. Just tight enough to feel dangerously good. Rough and harsh thrusts slamming into me. His mouth attached to the same hickey he’d left in the shower. Claiming that spot again, making the area larger more pronounced.

“Mine.” He growled savagely. It sounded more like a question than a heat of the moment statement.

“Yours,” I screamed aloud all hell breaking loose getting lost in another orgasm.

The guttural growl hearing my answer sent him over the edge himself. His body wobbled and jerked, harsh slaps of skin on skin riding out that high. He let go of my throat, hands sliding over my body while his thrusts had become lazy and slow. Lowering onto my stomach, rough but gentle kisses over my back followed each thrust. He didn’t move, not even after the aftershocks and jolts had stopped.

Fingers traced lines and patterns over my skin while we both caught our breath. I could feel him softening inside me but still, he stayed unwavering. My rapid heartbeat thumbing through my pussy, I knew he could feel it too. Sticky and sweaty and somehow I’d never felt better. When he finally pulled out he crawled himself onto the bed, arms tucked around my waist pulling me into his side, resting my head on his chest. His heart in a quickened race, knocking around inside his chest.

Neither of us said a word, not even when we noticed the usual tension, that thick heavy always present tension was gone. Frank reached down pulling the blanket over the both of us, making sure I was tucked comfortably in his side. He couldn’t stop running his fingers up and down my arm. He let it all go kissing the top of my head. That simple kiss said more than his words could have. Frank was ready to feel again, feel something other than anger.


End file.
